"transmits" poems
Rub your ***** against the window
I’ll rub mine against it too
We don’t need no ******* *****
We’ll invent the love anew
Use your mouth, your lips, and tongue
Give it freedom that it’s worth
Feel reborn, untouched, and young
As sky reunites with Earth
Make your palms, your hands, and skin
Vibrate with every touch
This is love, not ******* sin
Give it, take it, hold it, clutch
Now the ******* of my ****
Are as wide as my own eyes
Via them my love transmits
Via them my ***** dies
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 1:41 PM UTC
~for Steve R. & Stephen Y.~
*"two regrets are mine -
not finding you earlier in life when...words would have carved for me a better road, and...not hand-ing you a touch, the perfect tightness-shake of one's hand reserved for fondest friends and the light press on one's back deserved for dearest brothers!"
~~~*
the light press surety of five fingers on one,
oh, what messages it composes, oh, what duty weighty it transmits
dear brothers:
tho this hands-on handoff, this fly-over, is still a
mission unaccomplished,
yet no regrets, please!
men don't overuse superlatives,
what you lovingly uncover in my rocket-verbal Mars probes,
is more telling, more revealing of who you are,
than any hand-tightness shake,
any touching grasp, could e'er convey
yet I promise, forsworn upon the cross
of the north west Pacifico latitude and longitude
a latitude that just happens to intersect
my olden, new english state,
knowing that Interstate 90
a straight transcontinental shot,
and the car keys just an impulse grab away
to tell your arms, your face, your back, our hands,
that when you love my poetry,
you love me,
you friends,
are an affirmation of Pablo Neruda's words:
***"whoever discovers who I am
discovers who you are"***
fondness is not distance constrained,
touching grasps pay no obeisance to time,
the honor of your affection permanent
affirmed and enflamed,
all mine, sublime, to lead my heart,
where to lay hands upon your back,
to realize even more
our single united rhyme
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 4:58 PM UTC
Never had I seen a moon so bright
Something about it
Silently caught my eye
Even as the light
began to blind me
I couldn’t help myself but stare
Something so intriguing
I couldn’t quite figure out
Had me drooling, hypnotized
And when I think about it
A journey to the moon
Adrenaline still throbs
Up and down my veins
'Cus I know it’s unreachable
But its beauty whispers in my ear
A soothing lullaby
Transmits its calm and peace
So I settle
And seek comfort in knowing
It's always there
Shining it's light upon me
Even if it is
From thousands of miles away
Even if I will never
Be more than just the shadow of its glare
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 1:20 PM UTC
This terse verse was not
coerced or rehearsed,
the characters dispersed,
automatically, erratically,
forming statically cohering
patterns emphatically stating
my state of mind unwinding,
binding to the page,
for my pen is but a player and
this paper is its stage.
So now these thoughts have autonomy
despite their bond with me,
they're free to be a part apart from the
constraints of my mind, and now without
restraint they find their way to yours
as you perceive them.
I emit, the pen transmits,
now you receive them.
Adopt the words with
your optic nerves.
But be warned that these forms
Do not appease norms.
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 4:41 AM UTC
~
*Optimize
Arborize
Centralize
Personalize
Give recognition its own library
Its own USB port
An evening of multiple connections
Hardwired and soothingly modem
Transmits my thoughts into you
I know your voice
I know your body
And how they work together
To leave a clear network to my heart*
~
May 18, 2023
May 18, 2023 at 5:26 PM UTC
Of the items in the store,
All were second hand
An old computer did I buy,
With a broken stand
One side was badly scratched
Two knobs were missing too
But that’s not the story
I’m about to tell to you
T’was about the second week
Of the ‘puter at my place
Sitting there against the wall
Near the old staircase
I recall the night was late
As I readied me for bed
When I turned the ‘puter off,
The screen … it turned blood-red
The appearance caused a start
I gasped a breath of air
I couldn’t turn my gaze away
I stood right there and stared.
Then a low murmuring
From deep within the set
Cold chills ran over me
I’ve not forgotten yet
A voice, low and menacing
Containing graveled rasps
I could not then stop again
My involuntary gasp
I stood there mesmerized
My gaze remained transfixed
Thoughts racing through me
And all of them were mixed
The Voice on the other side
Of the blood-red display screen
Issued a command to me
So ominous and mean:
“Place your hand upon the screen
And repeat these words to me:
Where you are right now,
Is where I need to be.”
I felt my arm move upward
Powerless to resist
I felt a burning in my palm
As the display screen it kissed
I heard a voice and realized
The speaker it was me:
“Where you are right now,
Is where I need to be.”
As the words transmitted,
Involuntarily,
I could feel a change come on …
Overwhelming me.
As I stared in disbelief
My hand – it disappeared
Absorbed into the blood-red screen
As the burning onward seared …
Through my wrist, up my arm
It’s hotness I could feel
Inward was I screaming
Not believing this was real!
In reflection from the screen
I was being pulled into
I saw a face, and then I screamed:
“That horrid face is YOU!”
The rapid assimilation
Continued then until
All feelings were extinguished
And all was calm and still.
A trillion beings there transformed
To tiny bytes and bits
And ‘tis every part of us
All websites now transmits
Now here I am deep inside
This computers’ display screen
If there’s disturbance felt
Oh so sharp and keen
Just place your hand upon the screen
And read these words to me:
“Where you are right now,
Is where I need to be.”
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 7:30 AM UTC
Amid the morning traversal
Isolated movement in peripheral optics
Flashing visions caught my attention
and passed so fast, then behind my back
This contrast casts playful blasts
Wondrous attacks upon question
But the sights ****** with me,
in a scarring way
like cutting into me
these incisions intent
Almost as if she's demanding me to prefigure
to anticipate her resolve in steps ready
Trap and trace her shadowy inhibition
An illusory female in swift glided mission
She wouldn't be paying me attention
If she didn't want me to see her
in an apparitions condition
Back and forth between ups and downs
Omission transmits imagination,
on repeat
As she comes and goes
Appears and disappears
In a childlike hide and seek
Transition to remission
My jaunting disposition was put to shame
While trying to chase and catch
This, her silhouetted composition
All the silent while
I cursed blame on my beloved,
for coming so close to smell her
but not letting me hold her
But in real time
She kept reclusive
in a remote wood...
So many days without
I would long and ache
While her abilities are endlessly innate
As determination continues to persevere
She is alive, just away
out there
This figure I imagine is only that
My need to see her presence is a desperate one
Creating her graceful body in modes of bliss
Any way shape or form these divine bits
Her transparency I am offered
Only it's the tangible I am wanting
Her actual body and hair and hillside profile
My style is my struggle
As is this continual desire
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 2:26 AM UTC
The color of a slightly tipsy tongue peeling my resolve from my own is that of a winter morning
-- clear and concise in its purpose,
Sending signals to my brain, which, in response,
Transmits slight shivers down my spinal cord,
Raising the fine hairs
Along my smooth skin
--the same relaxed, whispy, ***** that covers tense, terse, and trembling muscles.
The sound of a shirt being pushed
Out of the way;
The sound of pants already crumpled,
Settled,
On the carpet my mother cleans.
That sound that represents
Everything I've ever wanted from nothing
But can not accurately depict
Anything I've wanted from one thing in particular.
Because you are special and
You make me want
And
You make my body tense and
My words short and
My lips loose.
Loose so as to open and receive your secrets given
In
False
Drunkeness
--to allow your breath to absolutely fill
My lungs
As you drag me down beneath the surface
And into the dark.
We are not blind.
Our nerves spark in the darkness,
The area devoid of any light source
save for those that arise from the
friction of skin against skin
and mind against mind,
Ideas crashing and banging together
As they
Escape
From our mouths
During our futile resistance to anything logical
Or rational,
Our selves piloted by the thought of
Unfathomable numbers and equations
That led to this moment
When our bodies feel everything
And our minds feel
Nothing.
We are naked before the eye of the God neither of us believe in.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
The hysteria of night, I feel
like a tug in my pining lovelorn heart
that pronounces her name again and again
her name flows back as a magic river
and I stand on a rock in the past,
time, I once told her, is magical
and meaningless as magic too is,
that amounts to nothing, yet we rejoice.
The hysteria of night is mellow wine,
she told me not to remember her again
she was magic, magician's special design,
appears and disappears at will, one would think
but no, every magic lasts for a while.
The parting kiss was most passionate ever,
can interpret dreams, how can one explain this?
The hysteria of night begins when moonbeams
fall on us, she gets the message from
an unknown source, from the depth at first,
she makes me touch her left breast that transmits it,
I used to wonder about the need for rituals,
now I understand what it means.
We were possessed by the hysteria of universe,
to create, empower each other by our
frenzied caresses with fingers of love
that are long, long and search, reach to the depth,
long moments of love becomes a gooey broth
in which we flow, float, play and peak.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 7:24 AM UTC
Enchanted by a set of ocean tinted eyes.
They cast me through to precious times,
Of unlived highs and endless nights.
We gaze on to the other side,
And drift out with the tide.
Your touch transmits a frequency,
Forever fitting into me.
The tops of trees kiss the breeze,
That leads us to the Crystal Sea.
And here is where we find ourselves,
Sipping on wet rain drop tea;
Tasting of love's luxury.
So I embrace this new found face,
And trust in all the light,
That is seeping right,
From under you.
(Oh how I think you're beautiful)
Soaked in truth,
Like the wet full moon,
Gracing upon the ever-ocean.
We glide through time and onto bliss: Perpetual Motion.
And I could ride this all the way downtown.
With the breath of your love and your heart beat's sound.
I wanna breathe in your love and hear your heart beat loud.
And I might cry.
Might shout and try,
To wake me from this obvious dream.
Sometimes it seems,
Like this couldn't be real.
Oh, you're such a big deal.
But I know it's true by the way I feel.
So it does live on, this lovely trip lives
Right where my tongue left your lips.
Where the sun drips onto the wet full moon,
Filling our glasses with a love tycoon.
Lost in the soundwave of your soul,
That's singing a tune so pure and whole.
Oh, I wanna get down,
To the deep ends of town.
So I follow your heart beat's sound.
**((((((( *** )))))))**
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
Beloved atrocity flatters me by any means
Dearly dishonored twist in the mind creepily transmits chills down the spine
Alter-ego of eerie grotesque underneath opposites where lay secrets kept
Wicked distortion of rise and fall like morning and night
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 12:03 PM UTC
Loft for the weighted memories still stuck to earth by way of highways in mind deciding worth lost to the odds just might light your best and not the worst to leave you burned and make you hurt with a hole left mid breast so the whole heart started at first sight turns wild in flight and down to depths of stress plumbed once per month while you cry out little droplets blessed with time passed and spent at life's expense, listless and bound to recollect proud moments of ownership, passe notions of leadership, the one who leads and was led is nondescript, if it's turbulence or asphalt smooth to speed in sleep in place of days waking, walking two by four recede to dream where you toss and kick fears and pain away under thick rain you'd rather dry with orange rays and haze of heat, one mute mouthed faux biker writer always at the call though no admittance, transmits recognition of what feels like martian love at collision where no rocks were hit but rifts roared and wracked the soaring sky, pyres and stars reflected in moist eyes at night with even gentle wind or slight breeze, these fragments of us chipped off at cycle's start darkness whether live or lie, do not comply to be cautious when the very thought, though heavy, brings loft for the weighted bevy of ties that chain what happiness we weep to celebrate.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 6:55 AM UTC
A "Tireless Impression" is nothing but pure nonsense, when you finally come to grips with what is mostly costly away from what makes up something that starts (as an impression), then abruptly transmits directly over towards the impression that gives good advice...that can't give good advice for itself.
The Tireless part, is the only remedy to an awakening that doesn't count for the (already built up nonsense) that can't keep it's own self away from such sudden shame... That it adopts a certain willpower that counts itself lucky enough...to literally become increasingly ill-tempered at the very lifestyle it chose, for the very direct impression... Of a Tireless will.
May 1, 2021
May 1, 2021 at 12:38 AM UTC
Bleeding eclipse splatters anguish, scorching frozen terrain
Reservoir transmits despair, vaporizing humid remains
Noxious fumes plague ventilation, incinerating methane mutilates
Inhumane detonations ignite smog, dismembering shrapnel decimates
Bombardments stimulate hallucinations, assailants discharge magazines
Incendiaries barrage trenches, vulnerability flourishes disease
Artilleries eject carnage, atrocious quarantine impedes retreat
Projectiles massacre infantry, heinous airstrike parries deceit
Howitzer impersonates tempest, kamikaze technique revealed
Nautical battleships converge, perilous adversaries concealed
Submarines launch torpedoes, oblivious warships sealed doom
Submersed submersibles clash, claustrophobic vessels entomb
Drowning agony crushes depths, forsaken lagoon transforms necropolis
Aquatic daemons consume decrepit, infernal torment surrenders providence
Condemned mortals cauterize compassion, genocide exterminates consciousness
Snorkeling corpses mound topside, eradicated infestation forfeited holocaust
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 8:26 PM UTC
*A Magnetic Dream Conceived Of Timeless Perfections,
With Telekinetic Screams & Flawless Imperfections,
Programmed To Transmits Her Prismatic Light,
Inflamed, She Emits An Axiomatic Delight,
Her Lilac Senses Filled With An Eternal Slumber,
With Insomniac Pretenses Sobbing Into A Nocturnal November,
With An Ensnared Avidity & Reunited Blues,
Flared With Frames Of Her Reignited Hues,
Tattered As She Respires Into An Abysmal Disguise,
Her Motionless Shadows Reprise Into A Dismal Surprise,
- 03:57*
Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 6:38 PM UTC
**Glowworms swarm
on the treetops of the sky
to make ornaments
for the night,
they keep me awake
with their brilliance, extraordinary
that makes it possible for me
to hallucinate
that it's heaven.
Cosmic fireworks explode,
crossing the limits of time,
rhythm of a starry song spreads
like a divine fragrance,
transcending light years.
I've been in a cocoon,
long days of grief and pain;
this effulgent night transmits
some good news, for the meditative-
chrysalis I used to be for long.
I fly up on my invisible wings
to experience a life eternal,
to be one with alpha and omega alike.**
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 12:14 PM UTC
*Spectral & Whites,
She shoots liquid kryptonite,
Forming civil twilights,
Lighting up satellites,
Effusive she moves in crowds,
Vetting the loud,
Entombing in her vortex clouds,
Fiction stitched exclusive to her shroud,
Translucent transcendence,
Sinking in ascendance,
Obscured abundance,
Her celestial dependence,
Mutating sacraments,
Dissolving electrolytic laments,
Decaying she resents,
Her serene blood stains,
Choking reckless intents,
Torrential far cry,
Of her desecrated lullabies,
Edging serrated highs,
Triggering sulphur lies,
Profanity in her transmits,
Photonic duality she emits,
Fluttering in trance,
Her psychopathic stance,
Initiating empathetic dance,
Seductive incandescence,
Buffering her schizophrenic vehemence,
Veiling the era of repentance,
By unveiling spiritual severance,
And pseudo sacrosanct irreverence,
The future’s here,
Nuclear souvenir,
She past my prime,
When the evidence realigned,
Confiscating her downtime,
She committed my crime,
Make amends… We are designed to be outlived….
03:22AM*
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 5:01 PM UTC
I doubt the words on the page, correctly portrays, the images of the hand that wrote them.
Silent lips
Deaf ears, and
Blind eyes are
The merit of the creator as
He namelessly transmits his
Inner thoughts to his outer audience
My pen does not move for your applause
It moves for your focus
The thought pattern in this movement
Is more, and less, of my faceless existence
I can listen to what you want me to hear
But that doesn't mean that I am there, for that reason
I am a giver of many words and
A taker of many woes
I promise I could never fit a profile
The words I write are chameleon
They change to what you believe they say
The body I possess is chameleon
It changes to fit whatever pleasures you extract
No matter the length of time you stare
No matter how close you get
You will never find me.
XIN
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 8:14 PM UTC
Words become entangled in my mind
Were the sane become insane with calligraphy
A poet paints a picture graphically
The rhythm flows systematically
Opaque and gray tailored eloquently
Containing a message invented genuinely
Embracing the thoughts that my brain transmits
Good or Evil what will you pick?
Am here to decipher my darkest abyss
To the right Angel of Justice and freedom
To the left Angel of Death and destruction
What will it be? What will you choose? Will your
soul be redeemed or will you be a fool?
Choose Jesus Christ and be welcomed as a child of God, or
choose Lucifer and remain another lost soul. God will condemn
You to hell for eternity if you ignore his calling
So remain lost or accept Jesus today as your savior
and be saved. I am here sharing this words today to bring you
Under God's grace may he bless you and comfort you in everything
you do. Amen!
©Franko the Christian Poet
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 10:31 PM UTC
“If you grow old, it is your own fault,”
I say to Terry as we climb
the mountain behind his cabin.
Terry is wearing a device that transmits his heartbeat
by cell phone to doctors at Stanford.
Terry has a flutter, nothing serious, probably.
Terry has a great heart, actually,
something serious, warm and wise.
We ascend this hill on Tuesdays every week
discussing poetry and plumbing, our twin passions:
the gathering of mountain water funneled into pipes,
delivered to homes,
the ordering of words funneled into pages
delivered nowhere, sadly.
We discuss friends fallen or falling,
the arc of marriages, parenthood, oddball relationships,
each a story and a puzzlement,
webs woven of love and rage.
That, and motorcycles, we talk,
pacifist veterans who walk still seeking sense
of an incomprehensible war that shaped our lives.
Objectors, conscientious, we realized too late,
not an easy path but better than following orders.
We walked away from war.
He, the Air Force; I, the draft.
Branded dishonorable.
So we hike, hearts pounding,
the simple friendship of two old men
seeking the hilltop
again and again.
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 1:44 AM UTC
Coping.
A shadow, poised where the blow is to fall
transports and transforms
in its turning
as shot hits, making wife widow who learns
by authentic letter
but starts hopeful pretense.
A dream believed whole is but a fragment
transfixed and transient
in its racing
away from such real where tragedy faces
grave's mocking indifference
to wedlock's stark finish.
A battle-torn soul coping alone with grief
transacts and transmits
in its mourning
devotional vows should report prove false
yet she, believing he lives
weeps while cursing war's evil.
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 4:38 AM UTC
Walking,
My body weaves,
Arms hang,
Pinned to shoulders
Loose as string.
The hard walkway,
Through cracked plimsolls,
Transmits,
To creaky hips,
My material faults,
In uneven steps.
The eye
Inward stares,
And at every step:
Those fears,
That I kept at bay
As I strayed,
Claw at my walls.
Now,
I must attend
To the piteous whimpers,
The cringing whines,
And frantic scratching.
And force myself
From running,
As I would,
To escape the pleading:
The howls,
Of that inner dog,
Tied to a post.
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 7:34 AM UTC
Openness from within
Is bigger than commitment
It is a string
That connects you to all
To the energy of life
And the darkness of death
Like a wire that transmits energy
Openly
Created and delivered
Not to hurt
Not to punish
But to confirm the truth
Behind ones existence
Openness to trust the feeling
Inspired
And knowledge that it was there for a reason
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 12:30 AM UTC